


As Soon As I Can Fly

by dannodontsurf



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Blood and Injury, Child Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, References to Depression, Shooting, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-12-19 10:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11895372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannodontsurf/pseuds/dannodontsurf
Summary: “You are completely, one hundred percent, out of your mind, Steven, completely out of your mind!” Danny finished his rant and stopped waving his hands.Before he could say anything else, Steve’s fist flew straight into his face.





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write a fic focusing on Steve and his mental health. He is always portrayed as someone who can't be broken and deals with trauma like it's nothing. So here's one with an emphasis on brokenness, pain and recovery.
> 
> This is also posted on ff.net

There are no good or bad people in the world. There are only people who have a choice. A choice between good or bad. No one is bad until they choose to be – or so Steve believed. Steve McGarrett had many thoughts, opinions and feelings about the world but most of the time he kept them hidden. Trained as a Navy SEAL, he was like a machine – just do, don't think, don't feel. Pull the trigger.

It was until one day, Steve had believed that. One day – one afternoon – in which Steve realized there were no monsters that did all the bad things and that there were no heroes to come and save the day. He realized there were people so ruthless, so sinister that bad wouldn't describe them. The word people couldn't describe them. He hoped they were monsters from a nightmare because he couldn't fathom how a man could press the cold gun against a little child's head and silence its screams with just one quick finger movement. Steve felt sick to his stomach. It was a different kind of sickness – not just nauseating, but the kind of sickness that made your whole body shiver in fear, shock, disgust and endless sadness. Steve McGarrett was a man who had seen many things in his life, a man who had done many things in his life – both good and bad – but the moment he saw the little child collapse on the floor, in front of the shooters feet – broke him.

Across the vast hall of the bank, on the polished linoleum floor, Danny Williams's eyes were staring numbly at his own legs as he was kneeling with his fingers intertwined on the back of his head. There was a gun aimed directly at his head. He glanced across the room, seeing Steve, Chin and Kono in the same position. Five men dressed in black were pacing across the hall with big guns in their hands. The sixth man was silently speaking on the phone, glancing at the twentysomething people lying on the floor with their faces buried in their hands, hiding from their stares. There was a group of school children with their two teachers, shaking on the cold floor, petrified to even make a sound.

_It was just a school trip. Just a school trip. A school trip._

Danny's thoughts were chaotic. He couldn't stop thinking about the parents who sent their little babies to school that day, thinking how much fun they would have exploring the bank, museums, the police station… If only the bank wasn't on the itinerary that day. Danny's heart was racing, he kept rewinding all hostage situations in his head, the ones he had witnessed, and he tried to calm himself, thinking how they were all over. This one will be over too, he kept thinking.

"Hour's up, McGarrett," a deep voice echoed across the room, shoving the phone in his pocket. Steve's face went paler. There was no follow up to that, but the way he looked at Steve meant their demands weren't met.

_We don't negotiate with terrorists._

Steve couldn't breathe. There was no way they would get what they had requested and the only promise they made, in case that happened, was to start shooting civilians. It wasn't unusual – Steve had seen it many times. It was like a textbook case. Except…

"Start," he ordered, calmly turning his head in the direction of a child who quietly asked his teacher if he could go to the bathroom. They were both shaking, the teacher looked away from the men with gun and silently kept telling the boy to stop talking and just wait a little longer. One of the men, holding his rifle, paced in their direction. The boy couldn't stay silent much longer, he let out a loud cry as he was shaking.

Steve's eyes were set on the boy and the rifle.

He stopped breathing.

The man extended his hand and Steve closed his eyes, biting his tongue with all his strength.

Steve opened his blue eyes and the man pulled the trigger.

Tears streamed down Kono's face, Chin winced in shock and Danny stopped breathing.

"Hey," shouted Steve unbelievably loudly, suddenly standing up on his own two feet. Danny winced quicker than the rest but the men in black immediately aimed their guns at him. "I will get you what you want. Just one phone call. I'll get you what you want," he said hoarsely, barely being able to speak. The man smirked at him, holding his rifle tighter.

"You _had_ one phone call, McGarrett," he simply replied. Steve bit his lip as his nostrils widened.

"I'll get you what you want," he repeated pleadingly, reaching his hand out. The man slowly walked up to him, glancing around him very carefully.

"One call."

Steve reached his hand, about to grab the phone from his hand, but suddenly grabbed the rifle in his other hand.

Chaos occurred.

The man hit the floor, dead, the rest of the team were already on their feet, trying to handle the other five armed men. The children were screaming as Danny managed to take the rifle from one of the armed men and shot his chest.

Suddenly the door burst open as the SWAT team rushed in, eliminating the rest of the armed men. Danny was dizzy, looking around him as the children scattered screaming, and the teachers ran along. There were six dead men on the floor, and Steve who was lying next to the boy who was shot. Steve's face was pressed against the cold linoleum, his stare was numb, his eyes were empty and his shirt was drenched in blood.


	2. Beneath the Surface

It was a strange feeling to hold his hands on the steering wheel. Danny expected his next solo ride to be enjoyable. He expected driving his own car to be at least a bit fulfilling. A song, annoying to his ears, started playing on the radio and he instinctively reached out his hand to turn it off. For a few moments he was silent, as if he was expecting Steve's annoying ass to turn it back on. It remained silent. After a couple of minutes, Danny turned the radio back on. At least he could pretend Steve was here.

.

.

.

Chin and Kono were in the middle of a lively conversation when Danny walked in, his face more frowny than usual.

"Danny," Chin called out and Danny winced as if he had just been woken up from some sort of a trance.

"Yeah," he muttered lazily, running his hand through his hair. "I just got a call from the governor."

"And?" Chin raised his eyebrow and Kono leaned her hands on the table.

"The little kid murdered three days ago was her nephew," he bit his lip. "She wants to see us."

The team was silent for a while and were simply exchanging worried looks.

"Well, I guess we should get going," said Chin silently and Kono nodded.

"Yeah," Danny murmured, staring at his phone.

"Still no word from Steve?" asked Kono. Danny made a grimace.

"Uh, no," he scratched his eyebrow and sighed. The team slowly exited the office and strolled toward Danny's car.

.

.

.

It never felt good to be sat outside the governor's office. It was never because of good news. Danny's palms were sweating as the door creaked open. The secretary invited them in.

"Governor Mahoe," said Chin softly and squeezed her hand. "Please accept our condolences."

The woman, dressed in black, gave him a small nod and proceeded to shake hands with Kono and Danny. They then sat down opposite the governor and remained quiet.

"I can only hope that there will be a day when we meet under different circumstances", she began. "But for now, we must keep working to make this island a better place," she clenched her teeth. "I am assigning you to this case and it must be taken care of immediately. Robberies are one thing but innocent lives being taken… children's lives…" her eyes teared up. "That is another thing," she said coldly and reached for a tissue from her drawer. "Find those who did this, find out why, find out where they came from and bring them to justice," she stood up and walked up to the window, turning her back to the team. "If not, this just might be your final case."

.

.

.

Steve McGarrett dragged himself downstairs. It took him several minutes to make a couple of steps. Feeling very disoriented, he staggered into the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that badly needed to be washed. Pulling the refrigerator door open, his eyes numbly stared at the content. There was so much food inside that nothing more could fit in and Steve hadn't touched any of it. He knew he had to eat but he just couldn't. He slammed the door shut, not on purpose, he just simply couldn't control his hands or legs as much as he wanted to. His eyes were bloodshot; a big, dark bag underneath each one, and his face seemed so sunken as if he hadn't eaten in weeks, not days. He didn't quite look like the old Steve McGarrett, he almost looked like a tired, lifeless reflection of himself, more so like a ghost aimlessly wandering around his house.

A breath of fresh air hit his face and soothed his skin as he made his way outside. The chair in his backyard was waiting for him to sit down and stare at the ocean, which is exactly what he went to do. Even though it felt like every bone in his body hurt, the wooden chair was oddly comforting to him. It wasn't comfortable but as he was sitting in it, relaxing his tense muscles, he felt at home. It was more like a sanctuary where couldn't be hurt. He was at home – he was safe.

After a while of staring at the water in front of him, Steve looked down and immediately winced, seeing red spots on his white, although not so bright, t-shirt. His mind wandered to three nights ago when he was kneeling in his bathroom, leaned against the wall, scrubbing the blood from his hands. The brush was so firm it scraped his skin too much and it began bleeding. Steve's hands and arms were full of wounds from the brush as he maniacally tried to clean it, thinking it was the boy's blood.

_How is there so much?!_

He kept thinking as tears were streaming down his face, staring at the bloody bathtub and floor, his shirt drenched in water mixed with blood. The bathroom was flooded, and Steve woke up in a puddle of his own blood, being slapped by Danny, trying to wake him up after he had passed out.

Seeing red spots on his shirt caused a major flashback and Steve felt sick, breathless, trapped. Looking around in panic, Steve tried to catch a breath and suddenly realized – it was just a white shirt with a colorful print. There was no blood. Steve suddenly burst out laughing uncontrollably, as sweat started dripping from his forehead, a feeling of relief overwhelming him.

_Damn shirt._

Steve stood up, deciding it was maybe time to hit the shower and pretend this never happened. He never liked that shirt anyway so he decided to burn it. It seemed like a clever idea at the moment. As he was about to enter the house, he heard a silent sob from the distance, followed by a louder scream. Steve winced, assuming it was coming from the water. He ran closer to the ocean, feeling his bare feet touch the chilly water. He could barely make out the silhouette in the distance but he instinctively threw himself into the water. The more he swam, the less he could hear the voice. He was twisting and turning in the water, trying to find the silhouette but there was nothing but red water around him. Steve's eyes widened, he gasped, unable to breathe as water filled his nostrils and mouth. It was like he had forgotten to swim. The waves overcame him and his head was suddenly underwater, with his hands above the surface, thrashing the waves. He could hear the voice again. It sounded like a muffled scream, followed by a loud noise, resembling the noise of a gunshot. Steve stopped breathing the second two arms grabbed him out of the water.

.

.

.

Muffled screams woke him up and he started coughing. He couldn't make out the two faces in front of him as he was sat on the grass, right in front of his wooden chair. Danny's eyes were staring at him, drops of water rolling down his chest and Chin gently nudged his shoulder.

"Steve," whispered Danny.

There were no muffled screams, that was just Danny calling his name. There was no red water, that was just the dark ocean. Nobody was drowning. Steve shook his head.

"I thought- I-," he tried to speak but coughs kept interrupting him.

"Easy," said Danny, looking at his wounded arms and something pained him inside his chest.

"Come on, brah, let's get you inside," said Chin in a very comforting, friendly tone and the two managed to pick him up, each holding him from one side, supporting his arms. Steve tottered inside with their help, completely wet, and sat down in the nearest chair. Chin brought a dry towel and a glass of water, as Danny sat beside him, patting his back.

"He needed my help," Steve began, disoriented. Danny raised his brow, trying to make sense out of the situation.

"Uh, who did, Steve?" he asked, trying to sound as neutral as possible while he was worried sick.

"The boy, the little boy, the-," he coughed. "-boy, in the water, there was a boy and he was yelling and he couldn't swim and the shark got to him and-" he mumbled, speaking in one quick sentence, forgetting to breathe and the suddenly got up. "He's still in the water, Danny! He needs my help!" he started yelling hoarsely and Danny grabbed his arm.

"Steve, listen to me," he said quietly as Chin caught his other arm although gently, trying not to touch his scratches. "Nobody's in the water, okay? There wasn't a shark, Steve," he tried to explain calmly, gazing at Steve's shocked face.

"They shot him! They shot him!" he started yelling even louder.

"Nobody shot the shark, buddy," whispered Chin.

Steve looked at them, shaken, and started putting the pieces together.

_No blood. No boy. No screams. No shark._

Cold sweat covered his body and his face became paler than the wall. Danny and Chin exchanged worried looks once again as Steve whispered.

"He needed my help," he said utterly sadly, in a very low voice, referring to the boy that got shot in front of him. His thoughts wandered back to three days ago.

_Sobs. Screams. Gunshot. T-shirt…_

_Drenched in blood._


	3. Wake Up

There were certainly many breathtaking, beautiful things that made Hawaii special. It would be quite a lengthy list as it would be difficult to choose just one since there were so many – the spectacular sunsets, sandy beaches, delicious cuisine, lovely people, amazing sights – it really was a gem. Even though everything about Hawaii was like no other place, there was one thing Steve could single out – the warm breeze on his skin after a long swim.

Digging his feet into the sand, Steve was sat on the sandy beach, viewing the marvelous sunset, letting his wet body dry from the swim. Even though there were still people on the beach - mostly picking up their stuff or trying to convince their children to leave the ocean and go back to the hotel - it was rather peaceful. Hearing other people's voices soothed him as he didn't necessarily want to be part of a conversation but lately silence became a bit too loud to handle. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the last sun rays of the day, before the sun hid behind the horizon, and he took a deep breath. Yes –  _feeling_  the air and  _breathing_  the air counted as one of Steve's favorite things about the island. It was like no place else.

A whole week had passed. In that week, Steve learned a lot about himself and his refrigerator. It never occurred to him that raw meat couldn't survive a whole week in the fridge without going bad, although, he had always kept everything in such order that there was never any potential of that happening. Everything in his life was organized, in perfect order, nothing in his fridge had ever spoiled – unless he wasn't home for a while. Hence it came as quite a shock to him, that half of the things weren't edible anymore. At least he made himself reorganize the fridge, heavy heartedly throwing most of the things in the trash, and putting the rest on the counter until the fridge was squeaky clean. It was a hard week – he thought – and promised never to let that happen again. If no one knew about it, he could pretend it never happened.

Danny kept nagging he should take some time off, stay at home and rejuvenate.

_Just stop talking._

He believed Steve should seek some sort of professional help and really dedicate some time to himself and his thoughts and he made sure to remind Steve of it  _every day_.

_Well,_  I _just believe you should stop talking. Is there someone I could pay for_ that? _I'd rather pay someone to help you shut up, Danny._

Saying things like that helped Danny believe he truly was getting better. The absence of his spirit and attention, however, conflicted with his optimism.

Steve let out a deep sigh. He was fine. He was. Danny was just overreacting, he was always like that – just a very protective, caring friend who worried too much. Steve almost smiled to himself but the sudden coldness he felt on his skin interrupted him. The sun had set and the people had gone from the beach. Steve stood up, shaking the sand off his feet, and started walking toward where he had parked his car. The flip flops on his feet were making a lot of noise which he didn't mind but made him notice the sudden silence. It was like someone hit a switch – from warm and loud to cold and silent. It made him feel uneasy but he approached his car, taking another deep breath. He started digging through his pockets in search of the keys when suddenly, he heard a loud noise. He winced, immediately turning his head towards the ocean. He couldn't make out where it was coming from, but he was sure it was a cry for help. Instinctively he dropped both the towel and the keys on the ground and searched for the source of the noise. His eyes wandered, trying to make out anything in the dark but he couldn't see a thing. Then he heard the noise again, only this time more clearly – it was a loud cry followed by a gunshot. Steve's heart skipped a beat and he maniacally opened his car, in search for his gun and phone but he couldn't find them. He kept looking as the cries became louder and finally noticed his phone, lying underneath the driver's seat. Grabbing it, he immediately turned the brightness on and noticed the inside of his car was soaking wet. It was surprising, considering he had been sitting in the sun long enough to have completely dried. As he raised his head, he saw a silhouette on the other side of the vacant parking, holding a gun with his hand covered in blood. As he was approaching Steve, he kept whispering slowly.

_You have one call._

The eerie voice kept telling him as Steve was holding his phone, suddenly realizing it was wet from blood, and trying to dial a number but failing.

"I can't!  _I can't_!" he shouted, trying repeatedly. It seemed as though the blood was coming from the phone itself, and Steve kept pressing and pressing until a picture appeared. It was a picture of Grace, back when she was a little kid, hugging Danny, seemingly bloody on the surface of the screen.

_Start._

The phone hit the floor and a loud gunshot ripped through his ears.

Steve winced, sitting wide awake in his bed, drenched in cold sweat. His heart was pounding and he couldn't breathe.

_It was just a dream._

The fact that it was just a dream calmed him down a bit, although it should have been a red alarm. Steve shook his head, feeling a jolt of pain and landed his feet on the floor. He concluded how he needed to take a pill for his headache before work and one more important thing:

_Don't mention this to Danny._

Because, of course, Danny would only overreact.

.

.

.

"Can I come in?" Chin peeked behind the glass door, raising his brows and smiling at Danny.

"Yeah, Chin, come in," replied Danny, pulling away from his desk, putting down the pen he was just using.

"I'm worried about Steve," Chin glanced at the clock, showing Steve was already twenty minutes late. Danny nodded his head.

"Uh, I know," he sighed. "He did call me though, said he'd be a bit late today. He said he had some things to take care of.  _I_ have no idea what he could possibly be needing to take care of now except for  _himself_  but what do I know anyway, he's a big boy, he can take care of himself," Danny said, sounding slightly annoyed, gesticulating with his hands.

"Wow," uttered Chin, surprised Danny would say that, knowing well enough Danny was worried sick about Steve. "You really think that?"

Danny didn't reply. He just sat in his comfortable chair, counting every second Steve wasn't there.

"What I think is – we need to get back to the case, it's been four days since we spoke to the governor and I really don't want her to call us again unless we have some good news for her."

"Right," agreed Chin and stood up, turning away from Danny.

About half an hour later; Chin, Danny, Kono and Lou were standing around the touch-screen computer table, looking at the pictures that would appear after Kono swiped the screen. There weren't any successes in the last few days – all their suspects were already dead and they had no new leads. The team had already investigated their homes, talked to their families, dug through their files. At the first glance, they had a few things in common – all men had some sort of combat training, whether from the military, the navy or otherwise. They also had families and no police records, except for one man who was pulled over for speeding. They didn't seem like they belonged to any kind of illegal organization, especially not one that would hold children hostage and shoot mercilessly.

Steve walked in, holding a paper bag in his hand and rushed to his office, joining the rest of the team shortly after with nothing in his hands. Danny didn't miss that detail.

"You okay, Steve?" asked Kono and looked at Steve.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied and crossed his arms on his chest. Lou glanced at the scars on his hands and quickly looked away while Steve stared at the big screen in front of them. He was silent, waiting for Kono to bring him up to speed.

"So, as I was saying, these guys don't seem like the type who would run around with rifles, holding random hostages or threatening children or Five-0," she began, swiping the screen until multiple pictures of different men appeared on the screen. She selected only one, enlarging it. It was a dossier from one of the offenders. Kono then selected a few more of the exact same dossiers and aligned them on the screen.

"They all have families, good jobs, no criminal record and also had no connection to each other prior to the incident," she then selected a bunch of pictures, each showing a different family. "The only connection was this."

Dozens of e-mails appeared on the screen.

"All of these men received threats that their children were in danger. After they responded, they started getting e-mails with instructions what to do. Their first tasks were ridiculous, like work out at the gym for an hour and send proof," explained Kono. "Later they started to get more morbid requests, like shoot a pigeon, all while receiving pictures of their children at random places."

"Clearly some psychopath started stalking their children and threatened to hurt them unless they did what he wanted?" asked Chin.

"Yes,  _but_  the police couldn't find the guy. It was impossible to track him down."

"Okay so we have a group of armed men, ready to do  _anything_  to protect their children, obviously forced to do so because some freak manipulated them," said Lou. "But that doesn't explain why they started shooting at the hostages. They were just kids."

_Just kids._

_Kids._

Steve's head hurt. 

_I should take another pill_.

The team kept talking about the case while Steve distantly kept thinking about his headache. He couldn't exactly remember how many pills he had taken that morning. All he remembered was an empty pill box.

_One? Two? Three?_

He couldn't remember.

_Was it for the headache? Or the shoulder pain? Or because of lack of sleep?_

The only thing he could remember was not to mention this to Danny.

_Don't let Danny see the paper bag._


	4. Let Me Sleep

Thick files were neatly stacked on the desk, next to an almost empty bottle of some sort of liquor. An empty glass, sticky to the touch, was sitting in Steve’s hand. He was starting to feel a bit dizzy already. Quickly glancing at the files, he grasped the glass in his hand tightly and then moved his gaze onto a plastic bottle, lying on the floor empty.

_One?_

_Two?_

_Three?_

Again, he couldn’t remember. Steve was feeling drained at the very beginning of the week. The conversation with the team, held in the headquarters the prior night, completely drained his energy. It was unusually difficult for him to keep his mind concentrated on the conversation, remain invested in it, and refrain from physical contact with the team.

It wasn’t easy trying to organize his chaotic mind. Why was he thinking so much? Why was he _feeling_ so much? Why was he so scared?

_Why weren’t there any more pills in the bottle?_

Steve struggled to find answers to those questions. The bottle on the floor was still empty, yet the glass in his hand was filled quickly. Shaking, he poured what was left of the liquid, and brought the glass closer to his nostrils, inhaling the intoxicating smell of the sweet alcohol.

It was time now.

Taking a deep breath while observing the glass so close to his face, Steve drank up. It burned his throat, warmed his insides and made his teeth clench. Already quite intoxicated, Steve’s shaky hand missed the table and the glass hit the floor, smashing into pieces. The noise startled him so much that he nearly fell onto the floor himself, but managed to hold himself onto the desk. It took a few minutes to recollect.

Steve was calm now.

Trying to coordinate his movement as best as he could, Steve carefully reached his hand and grabbed the top file from the stack.

A picture of one of the dead shooters was the first to meet his eye. The man’s beautifully warm brown eyes seemed to be staring at him. Steve couldn’t breathe for a second while his heart was pounding, once again. He was looking at the picture, observing the man’s every pore, line and freckle, remembering every strand of his auburn hair. It was a while before he flipped the page. A lot of words graced the page, which he could simply not read now. He flipped again.

The auburn strands of hair were tangled in messy, bloody knots. The man in the picture was lying on the floor with his rifle across his chest in a puddle of blood. Steve closed his eyes, feeling like he could throw up. Was it the liquor or the picture?

Feeling brave, he reached for another file. The envelope was as blue as his eyes were. He hesitated. Why did he spend fifty minutes convincing the team he could work the case if he couldn’t even go through the paperwork? Why was he so afraid of _papers_? He tried smiling a little, thinking how paperwork was everybody’s pet peeve.

Steve opened the file.

The image of the little boy colliding with the linoleum floor flashed in front of his eyes. Impulsively, he stood up as the chair behind him fell over and he let out a loud cry. Grabbing the liquor bottle closest to him, he tossed it across the room and sobbed through the sounds of glass hitting glass. The window glass broke into pieces. Steve was holding his head with the both of his hands, trying to get the images _out._

The face of the shooter, lying dead with a smile frozen on his lips, was creeping at him from the desk. Steve maniacally groped his belt in search for his gun. It wasn’t there. He wasn’t even sure where he was going as he staggered across the room, throwing things off cabinets and tables until he spotted his shiny gun on the sofa. Without thinking, he fired shots at the table, trying to shoot the shooter. The picture was still there, the furniture around it had holes in it and Steve had no more ammo. As if he was giving up, he slid against the wall, hitting the floor. He was sat on the floor for a while, staring blankly ahead. It was peaceful for a while as he drifted away, somewhere between consciousness and asleep.

“Steve,” he heard a voice calling his name and he winced, rubbing his eyes. They burned from the combination of touching them with sticky fingers and crying. He couldn’t quite make out where the voice was coming from until he saw the front door open. He staggered towards it, instinctively holding his hand over his abdomen. A lot of light was coming through the open door.

Was it morning already?

Steve reached the door, immediately blinded by the lightness in front of him. Everything in front of his house was in white linoleum. Trying to adapt to the blinding lightness, Steve squinted into the distance until he saw a trace of blood. He looked down, suddenly there was blood on his shirt, especially where his hand was on the abdomen.

“Steve,” the voice called again.

He raised his head, meeting the shooter eye to eye. And then he woke up, hitting his shoulder as he rapidly stood up. Nightmares were slowly becoming part of his daily routine.

.

.

.

“Good morning, Commander,” the lady behind the counter greeted with a smile which soon transformed into a worried grimace. Steve was visibly unwell.

“Morning,” he tried to smile and nodded as he approached the counter. Sliding a small paper with something scribbled on it, he looked away. The woman looked at the paper.

_Co-codamol_

“Is your headache not getting better?” she asked worriedly.

“It is,” he lied. “I hurt my shoulder. You know how it is with the five o,” he tried to be nonchalant. The lady bit her lip, hesitating.

“Are you sure you are okay, Commander?”

“I promise,” he forced a smile. The woman nodded and disappeared. She came back with two boxes of pills in her hand.

“Thank you, Jeanie,” he whispered before he turned around and left the pharmacy. Jeanie waved back and kept looking through the window for quite a while after he was gone.

After a quick drive, Steve was parking the car. Noticing that Danny had just entered the building, he made a decision to leave the pills in the car this time.

_Better not bring this to Danny’s attention._

He entered the office in a clean, navy-blue shirt and a dark pair of cargo pants. Except for his thinner figure and tired, sunken face, he was looking just as usual. Danny glanced at him and the rest of the team soon joined them. As if it wasn’t already a rough morning, Danny suddenly decided to make it worse.

“What do you mean you _forgot_ the files? You _insisted_ on doing the paperwork! How did you forget?!“ he yelled, waving his hands everywhere. Perhaps he was doing it on purpose to tick off Steve.

“I _forgot_ ,” he repeated through clenched teeth. Chin interfered, ordering Danny to cut it out. They went back to the case as Danny and Steve kept glaring at each other. The day went on with each of them in their own offices, trying to figure out the next move. They were getting nowhere with the case, weren’t sure if there was anything _left_ of the case to work on as all their leads were dead but also very aware of the governor’s threat. It was stressful, to say the least.

At the end of the day, Steve stood up to leave. Danny, seeing him, quickly followed.

Steve sat in his car and drove off rapidly, hoping to get rid of Danny which – of course – didn’t happen. Danny kept tailing him for the most part of the drive. He couldn’t get rid of him. The speed of the cars was fast until Steve simply _stopped_ his car, causing Danny to rear end him. Thankfully, the crash wasn't powerful enough to hurt either of them but it was enough for Danny to completely lose it. Steve, after checking if Danny was all right, simply drove off.

_„YOU ANIMAL!!!“_

.

.

.

Steve was asleep on the sofa when he heard banging on the door. Another nightmare?

The banging intensified as seconds passed. Steve, still dreamy, wandered to the door and opened them.

_Please let this be another nightmare._

He groaned as he saw Danny, red in face, furious. It must have only been a couple of hours.

“What! Is the matter! With! You!” he shouted, making dramatic pauses and stressing each word. Steve watched his face go from red to pale.

_Shit._

Danny was silent as he shoved him aside, making his entrance into the completely messed up living room. Steve ran his hand across his face.

“Please, not now,” he asked as a jolt of pain ran through his head. Danny did not oblige.

“What is this?” he snapped, immediately.

“Danny,” Steve pleaded, feeling suddenly very anxious.

“Did you do this?” Danny’s eyes were wide open. “What the hell-“

“Danny, not now!” he cut him off. Danny, instead of listening, walked closer to him, getting completely into his face.

“ _Not now? NOT NOW? Then when, Steve? When the hell are you going to get some help!?”_ he yelled. Steve clenched his teeth as Danny kept rambling.

“You are completely, one hundred percent, out of your mind, Steven, _completely out of your mind_!” he finished his rant and stopped waving his hands.

Before he could say anything else, Steve’s fist flew straight into his face.

_Shit._


	5. Big Wave

 

The punch was painful. Danny landed on the floor with a nosebleed and a bruised lip. Steve stared at him as if he was frozen, pale in the face, clenching his fist. His knuckles were a bit bloody. Danny carefully stood up, making sure not to cut himself on the broken glass scattered on the floor. He did not look at Steve once.

“Danny,” Steve uttered as he was watching him leave. Danny didn’t turn around, but he made sure to _slam_ the door shut. Steve raised his hand and stared at his knuckles.

_Headache_.

A jolt of pain reminded him.

_Pills_. _In the car._

He staggered towards the door, drowsy and slightly disoriented, feeling the pressure from the headache. His fist was burning.

Steve pulled the door open, not even looking in front of himself. Danny was right outside and smacked him with the paper bag.

_Don’t let Danny see the paper bag._

_Damn._

“What the hell is the matter with you, huh?” Danny asked, yet quietly. He wasn’t yelling anymore. There was a certain sadness to his tone. Steve’s nostrils were widened, teeth clenched. Obviously, the smacking hurt his pride and he instinctively wanted to punch Danny again. But he knew he deserved this.

“I…” he uttered hoarsely. “I’m fine, Danny.”

“How can you possibly say that with a straight face?” Danny was in shock.

“I’m fine! Look, I’ve been through worse than this. I’ve seen worse than this. It goes away.”

“ _It goes away?_ Where, Steve?! Where does it all go? Right into my face?”

Steve was silent. There was absolutely nothing on his mind other than the bottle of pills in Danny’s hand. Danny noticed his gaze falling onto the bag.

Letting out a disappointed sigh, he walked away with the bag.

.

.

.

There was a bottle of gin stored in the kitchen cupboard. Steve’s eyes glistened once he saw it.

_This could help_.

Steve poured the transparent liquid into the glass and brought it closer to his face. The intense scent of alcohol made his lips stretch into a little smile. Maybe Danny was right, he thought. Pills weren’t doing him much good. He wasn’t reasonable enough to realize that alcohol wasn’t going to help him either. He took two sips right away, feeling the bitterness tingle his throat. Two sips later, a broom was in his hand and a melodic, jazzy tune was playing on the stereo. First the broken glass disappeared from the floor, then the whiskey spills were wiped, then every single object got put back to its place. Pieces of wood which were formerly a chair were put on top of a pile of junk. Except for the broken window and bullet holes in the couch, his living room was once again tidy.

Sighing, Steve walked into the kitchen. He washed his hands in hot water, feeling the burning sensation on his knuckles.

_Danny_.

Steve sighed as he ran the dry mop through his fingers. Another two sips of gin later, Steve was sat on his couch, staring at the blue envelope. He felt tormented. The envelope was like Pandora’s box; he was driven to open it, but he knew nothing good would come out of it. Still, he reached for it. His fingers gently pulled out a set of photos. This time, he was calm.

The photo of the boy was on top. Steve took deep breaths as he was observing it, feeling his heart ache more and more as each second passed. It started somewhere around his heart and slowly crawled into every inch of his body, so violently that it began to physically hurt. He felt sick to his stomach, yet he couldn’t look away. Was there a way for this sadness to go away? Could it go away, like he told Danny it would? He wasn’t sure.

He tried breathing in and out, calmly, as he was going through the pictures. His heart was racing, his hands were shaking. The sadness started stinging somewhere inside his chest. It was like a tidal wave, splashing his very core with such an unbearable, disgusting feeling, washing out any and every trace of happiness and serenity.

Steve couldn’t suppress the sobs any longer, he let out a loud, ugly cry. He was crying because it hurt him badly and at this point, even though he couldn’t admit it to Danny, he was letting out a loud cry for help.

.

.

.

It was two o’clock in the morning and Danny couldn’t sleep. His bruised lip annoyed him, and he couldn’t sleep on his right side because of his sore cheek which annoyed him even more. He gave up and got out of bed. Quickly checking up on Charlie and Grace who were asleep, or at least in Grace’s case –  pretending to be asleep with her phone under the blanket, Danny turned on his laptop. He began researching certain words and scrolling through a bunch of articles and pages. He decided Wikipedia wasn’t a sufficient source and began clicking on various scientific articles. He needed real, legitimate information.

Four letters graced the screen and Danny groaned. He wondered what were the chances of Steve straight up shooting him with his gun if he told him he needed to see a therapist? What made him wonder even more was what were the chances of Steve shooting him straight into the face upon hearing the words _posttraumatic stress disorder_?

Danny was by no means a professional, but Steve ticked all the boxes on the symptoms list. Danny knew he had to do something, but he didn’t know _what_.

Some time later, Danny heard a knock on the door. He lifted his head, feeling nervous. Three a.m. visitors usually only meant trouble. Danny reached for his gun on the table and silently walked to the front door, making sure not to make loud noises that would wake the kids up. That’s why he was even more nervous – the kids were staying with him, and if there was going to be trouble, he surely didn’t want them involved. Danny slowly reached for the doorknob, holding the gun carefully and opened the door. He didn’t really know what he was expecting, after all, a burglar or a murderer wouldn’t politely knock on the door and wait to be invited inside. Danny lowered his gun and looked at his visitor.

Steve was in his pajamas, looking like a terrified, lost little sheep. His eyes were swollen and the expression on his face made Danny’s heart skip a beat. They were looking at each other, both with teary eyes.

“I don’t know what’s going on, Danno,” Steve murmured pleadingly.

“Come on,” Danny pulled him into a tight hug. Steve’s body was warm, and Danny could hear his heart racing. “We’ll figure this out, okay? We will.”

They stood inseparable for a few moments until Danny realized Steve was completely sleep deprived. He made him sleep in his bed while Danny crashed on the couch, even though Steve protested. Danny insisted, and Steve gave up after a while, too exhausted to argue for long. It took him ten seconds to fall asleep on Danny’s fluffy pillow. It seemed like Steve was comfortable and finally peacefully asleep.

It didn’t last all night. 


	6. Coffee

The smell of morning coffee filled up the headquarters as sunshine peeked through the windows. It was going to be another sunny, wonderful day in the capital of Hawaii. Kono was already in her office, about to take a sip of the hot beverage as Danny walked in. At first glance, he seemed okay. Kono, however, knew that just a glance wouldn’t suffice – she stood up and went to greet him – and noticed two dark bags under his blue eyes. His face seemed sunburnt, which was unusual for his grumpy, sun-hating persona.

“Danny, what happened?” she asked and finally took a sip of her coffee. Danny stared at her cup, almost mesmerized. Soon he realized it was a question.

“Uh, I took the kids to the beach this weekend,” he murmured, rubbing his chin. “And when I say kids – I mean Charlie, Grace and Steve,” he smiled but then frowned, as if he remembered that he was _supposed_ to look grumpy, otherwise someone might suspect he was actually content for once in his life. “I haven’t been sleeping so well,” he rambled on, sort of incoherently, and Kono raised her eyebrow.

“Are you all right, bro?” she made a grimace.

“Yeah, I just forgot my sunscreen, yeah,” he nodded to himself. Kono smiled.

“You sound like you could _really_ use a cup of coffee,“ she said and Danny had the most thankful expression on his face. She was back quickly, and Danny almost inhaled his coffee. Kono let him have his blissful moment of tasting the morning coffee. Then, she turned her head at him.

“How’s Steve doing?” she asked worriedly.

“Good,” he replied instantly. “I think it was good for him to stay with us for a week. I think he gets lonelier than he likes to admit, all by himself in that house.”

“You think he’s really okay now? He’s not… _sick_ or something?” Kono asked quietly, as if she was afraid the word would become reality if she said it any louder.

“It crossed my mind but, uh, I think we’d know at this point. _He_ ’d know.”

“Yeah…” she said reluctantly. Danny glanced at her in the middle of taking another sip.

“This coffee is _fantastic_ ,” he commented before taking a deep breath. Kono gave him a look.

“I think that Steve has been through a lot,” he began, raising his eyebrows. “I think that a lot of things hurt him,” he said, somewhat quietly. “But I think he’s doing better now. He’s learning how to cope. He’s doing better,” Danny repeated the latter more enthusiastically, quicker and louder, trying to sound nonchalant. Steve still worried him very much, but he had to convince himself he’d be okay.

They finished their coffee with a conversation about the weather, a typical small talk topic, when both sides have too much going on in their heads.

.

.

.

Everything was exactly the way he had left it. Somewhat tidy but dusty. Steve took a deep breath yet the air in the house was stuffy. Ironically, the broken window didn’t help much with the feeling of stuffiness. No fresh air.

Steve threw his bag on the couch and closed the door behind him. Staying with Danny for a week really was therapeutic – for the most part. At least he got a couple of nights of good sleep. No alcohol, no mess, no pills.

Steve’s heart skipped a beat. Somehow, he had forgotten about the pills. Did Danny scare him into not taking them? He smiled to himself, thinking what nonsense that was.

 _When has Danny_ ever _scared anyone. Tiny little grump._

Steve had already gone for his morning swim before leaving Danny’s, and he had about an hour before leaving for work.

 _Coffee_.

He went to take a shower and then made himself some coffee. As he was silently sitting in the kitchen with his mug in his hand, he kept wondering whether Danny would be proud of him if he saw him like that. Just sitting, breathing, drinking a non-alcoholic beverage. He liked to think he would.

_Pills._

Steve frowned – he didn’t like that thought. It bothered him. Throwing the pills in the trash was the smartest thing Danny could have done.

 _To hell with them_.

Steve was ready. On his way out, he passed the mirror – gazing at his own reflection. Looking better, he thought. Though – he stopped – not to admire his beauty, or the fact that he wasn't resembling a skeleton anymore, but to stare at his shoulder.

“Huh,” he sniffed. It didn’t hurt anymore.

_Or did it?_

He kept staring at it for a moment and then left the house.

.

.

.

The day passed quickly, even though the team had to deal with paperwork most of the day, but it was a boost to the team’s morale; seeing Steve back on his feet. Lou was relieved and kept making jokes all day just to see Steve smile, and every time he would – Lou felt a little bit more at peace.

Danny, as usual, was battling his paperwork when Steve peeped through the door.

“Hey, buddy,” he smiled at his desperate face, staring at the _damn papers_. “Let’s go grab a beer.”

“I will be right there,” he said distantly. “I just have one more damn envelope to open and I’m there. I’ll catch up.” Steve shrugged his shoulders.

“You know where we’ll be,” he said as he left Danny’s office.

Danny was quite concentrated on his paperwork, but Steve’s presence motivated him to suddenly think about an ice-cold beer, so he hurried up. Grabbing the last envelope, Danny tore it open. Pulling out the papers, his stomach turned upside down.

Several photos of Grace and Charlie were in his hands, seemingly took from a distance. Danny felt nauseous as he was flipping through the photos. Suddenly, he felt like he could spit fire and at the same time cry a river. Panic was overwhelming him, he couldn’t breathe. He knew that the kids were with Rachel, safe and sound, and he would have already known if something had happened, so he shoved his phone in the pocket, and ran his hands down his face. Sweat was pouring down his forehead, his chest suddenly felt too small for the raging heart inside, beating vigorously.

He had never been more certain, in his whole life, that he was going to smother somebody to death with his own hands and _enjoy_ it.

_Son of a bitch._

Danny stormed out of the office, typing a text message before driving into the night.

.

.

.

The rest of the team weren’t particularly lively that evening – they had just one beer and went home. Steve was on his way to the car, thinking about Danny. It was strange how he had suddenly decided not to join them, but Steve couldn’t blame him. He must have been exhausted from babysitting him the past week. Even though he really missed him – but could never say that to his face – he had to give him some space. Danny had become his rock – solid, always there for him, even after a punch in the face and a million _go to hell’s_. It was strange not having him around  _all the time_ , but even Steve knew that wasn’t healthy. Did he suddenly become afraid of the dark? Afraid of being alone? Whatever it was, Danny kept him calm. He was his security blanket.

_A tiny, annoying, loud security blanket._

Steve smiled to himself as he was thinking about it. He sat in his car, glanced at the empty seat next to him and stared outside the window. The night was starry.

“Huh,” he said to himself as he stretched his arms and felt _something_ in his shoulder. It wasn’t a painful feeling, but it was there. Steve didn’t think much of it.

A song came on the radio and Steve thought how it would surely annoy Danny, and again he smiled to himself. It was a blissful ride back home with the windows down, and the warm breeze blowing. With every pause in-between songs, Steve either thought about Danny or his shoulder. It was almost like an argument in his head. He bet Danny could sense his thoughts, so he popped up in his mind all the time to remind him to _go to hell and give him the goddamn paper bag_.

Steve got home, still thinking of Danny. He entered his dark, empty house and suddenly felt so lonely.

_One?_

_Two?_

_Three?_

He couldn’t remember how many bottles of pills he had gone through.

_Couldn’t be three. Danny threw one away._

Steve sat on his bed and stared at the wall. There was nobody in the house but him and the pain, slowly creeping up again.

Suddenly his eyes widened as he remembered. Walking up to his wardrobe, Steve pulled the drawer open. Shirts were neatly stacked next to the socks and underwear. He reached his hand beneath the clothes and pulled out a small bundle. He unwrapped the bundle and looked at the few pills inside.

_In case Danny finds the paper bag._

Steve took them all, not even counting. He laid in his bed, letting the drowsiness overcome him.

_Don’t tell Danny._

He fell asleep to the sound of waves, as the warm breeze gently blew through the window. 

 


	7. Waiting Game

Danny couldn't think. Nauseating thoughts occupied his mind while he was speeding in his Camaro. He didn’t know where to go, what to do or whom to turn to. Grace and Charlie were the two most important people in his life and realizing that there was even a possibility of them getting hurt…

He couldn’t think about it. Danny felt like throwing up while his stomach was twisting and turning. He was trapped in a limbo of emotions he didn’t even realize existed. One moment he felt like crying his lungs out, the other he felt sharp jolts of pain which were followed by a devastating feeling of numbness, and finally he felt so angry, so agitated that he had to battle the thought of grabbing his gun and blowing his brains out.

He was sweating, constantly wiping his forehead and rubbing his palms against his thighs which left sweaty stains on his pants. Danny didn’t care.

.

.

.

The phone nearly fell from the nightstand from how much it was ringing. Steve smacked it with his floppy hand, still very drowsy and sleepy.

_2 am_

Steve stared at his phone while browsing through the missed calls log. Danny must have called him at least a dozen times.

_Danny._

Steve winced, instantly getting up and storming downstairs. He’d been trying to get him for at least an hour, which seemed odd. If Danny was in trouble, how the hell would he have been able to use his phone and dial his number repeatedly? And if he wasn’t in trouble, why would he have kept calling him and _not_ showed up at his house?

Something wasn’t adding up.

Steve got dressed in a second and disappeared from the house, forgetting how dizzy he was.

.

.

.

The house was dead silent. Danny walked in like a cougar hunting for prey. He was prepared for all kinds of possible scenarios. After quietly investigating every corner of the house – he found nothing. He wasn’t even sure why he was expecting an intruder in his house. There was a feeling of relief in his chest as he unclenched his fist and put his gun away.

Turning the lights on, he sat down on the couch, prepared to find a solution to the situation. He closed his eyes as he started worrying, panicking and freaking out again and got very lost in his thoughts. Loud banging on the door almost gave him a heart attack.

“ _Danno, open the door!_ ”

Danny was relieved, even though he felt like punching Steve in the face for scaring him. He stood up just to let him in, without any words or sounds, and returned to the sofa.

“ _Danno,_ ” Steve repeated loudly. “What’s going on?”

Steve sat opposite him. It was clear that Danny was distressed.

“Uh, I-I,” he uttered, seeming very distant. His hands were shaking. “I don’t know what’s going on but, I, uh, I think that someone wants to hurt Grace and Charlie,” he clenched his teeth. Steve’s nostrils widened.

“ _What_?” he made a face.

“There was an envelope on my desk yesterday,” he began slowly, his hands trembling. “With pictures of Grace and Charlie, taken in front of the school and in the park. Photos I, uh, don’t recognize or understand-“

Steve cut him off.

“Are you _sure_ Rachel didn’t send them to you?”

“Why would she send me these!” Danny waved his hands.

“I don’t know, Danny! Maybe there’s a logical explanation for this,” he suggested, not believing his own words. The primary objective was to calm him down.

“There isn’t, Steve! I can’t think of one!” he yelled. “Somebody is - _stalking –_ my children,” he couldn’t even pronounce the whole sentence without feeling like he was going to choke. Steve took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he _sounded_ calm, but he was far from calm. He was like a volcano that would soon erupt and leave steaming, scorching lava all around. Danny gazed at him. Panic was in his eyes.

“Steve,” he said quietly. “Whoever this is, I swear – I promise you – I will find them and personally _shove acid_ down their throats after I pull their eyes out of their skulls,” he was speaking slowly and angrily, as he kept clenching his sweaty fists. Steve nodded.

“No, buddy,” he began. “ _We_ will.”

Danny nodded in silence.

“I’ll go back to the office and check the security cameras. Maybe whoever delivered the envelope showed their face on the camera.”

“Doubt it,” Danny bit his lips.

“It’s a place to start, and right now, we have no other leads,” he said determinedly. Danny nodded again.

“Uh, yeah, you’re right,” he stood up as Steve walked to the front door. “I’m right behind you.”

Steve waved and walked to his car. Danny left the door open, planning to only pick up his phone and jacket when he laid his eyes on the coffee table. Another envelope, neatly placed on top of the pile of newspaper. Danny’s heart skipped a beat. For some reason he was expecting to be ambushed, or that a freakshow monster would jump out of the coffee table and shoot him. He found those thoughts to be preferable once he picked up the envelope and tore it open.

There were no pictures this time but a piece of paper with one word smeared across in red letters. Danny couldn’t tell if it was dried up blood or lipstick.

He read the word multiple times, hoping he’d just misread it the first time. He hadn’t.

Steve’s last name was written messily on the piece of paper.

Danny threw up on the bathroom floor.

.

.

.

An hour later, Danny was able to sit in his car and put his hands on the steering wheel. There were so many thoughts in his head that he felt like it was going to explode.

_Somebody is stalking Grace and Charlie._

_Steve’s in trouble._

_Bloody message._

_Ruined the carpet with vomit._

Danny laughed at himself for thinking about the carpet while _everybody_ he cared about the most in the entire world was in danger. He was losing his mind - he was certain.

It was like trying to solve a complex mathematical equation that he had no skills, knowledge or ideas for.

_At least math never killed anyone_.

Danny felt sick again. He was faced with a dilemma – tell Steve that his life was possibly in danger while he was going through a devastating and traumatic period in his life, or try to solve it himself? Danny gave up on the latter thought – there was no way Steve’s persistent, annoying ass wouldn’t eventually figure it out. Danny could never keep a secret from him, even if he wanted to.  

_You got to know every detail of my life? What's it to you what my lunch is?_

_Cause you don't want to tell me! What, you think it's so fantastic I'm going to steal it? You fly in some deep-fried sandwich from New Jersey I'm not allowed to know about-_

_Salad, okay? Just a salad. That's it. There's nothing else in here._

He had to tell Steve.

.

.

.

Getting dragged out of bed was never a pleasant experience, especially not in the middle of the night. Steve, however, had no time to spare – he ordered the team to show up faster than ‘as soon as possible’. They were all in the office, engaged in a serious conversation when Danny staggered inside. He was pale as a wall, either from throwing up or being tormented by his own mind. Possibly from both.

“Danny,” said Steve, acknowledging his arrival. “Are you okay?” he asked, even though it was a ridiculous question – how could he possibly have been okay after learning that somebody was putting his children in danger?

Danny simply threw the envelope in front of them and waited. Steve opened it, with Lou and Kono standing next to him. Lou walked away from the table as soon as he saw the content of the envelope and put his hands on his head in shock. Kono stared at Danny.

“Son of _A BITCH,”_ Steve cursed loudly, throwing the envelope on the desk. Chin took a look at it. Steve stood with his hands on his hips.

“Danny, listen to me,” he said with a serious face. “Whoever this is, I won’t let them touch Grace and Charlie. They can touch me, but not them.”

“Nobody’s going to touch you, okay, I will fucking _strangle_ this son of a bitch,” Danny groaned. Kono let out a sigh.

“What do we do now?” she asked. It was hard to tell. “Whoever sent you the envelopes, obviously wants something. Either from you or from Steve.”

“You think he’ll send another message?” asked Lou with his eyebrow risen.

“He has to,” concluded Chin. “For now, he’s just letting us know that he wants something. He has yet to say _what_ that is.”

“God,” suddenly Kono had a revelation. She quickly typed something on the touchscreen. Loads of images and reports popped up.

“This could be connected,” she announced. After hitting a dead end, they were brought back to the case that started everything.  The case that broke Steve McGarrett.

_Clearly some psychopath started stalking their children and threatened to hurt them unless they did what he wanted?_

_Yes, but the police couldn't find the guy. It was impossible to track him down._

“You think this is connected?” asked Lou reluctantly.

“It makes sense,” answered Danny.

“But all of the threats were received via e-mail. And they always included a task of sorts. Those men were manipulated with, while being threatened their kids would get hurt,” explained Chin. “Danny received two envelopes. No tasks, no _requests_.”

“This is personal,” said Steve after being silent for a while. “Whoever this sick son of a bitch is, he’s just getting started.”

The team exchanged looks. Everybody felt sick, worried and tormented.

“It’s a waiting game.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are always welcome.


End file.
